


Excerpts from the Diary of a Girl

by Checkerbox



Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Does not have a happy ending, Gen, greed era, meant to be ambiguos but i'm sure you can guess who it is, references a certain judge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Checkerbox/pseuds/Checkerbox
Summary: Pieces of writing from a diary given to a sweet girl on her birthday.





	Excerpts from the Diary of a Girl

_Excerpt 1_

Papa has bought me this glittery new diary as a present to celebrate. So today I will write in it as I wait for him to finish with his papers so we can have cake together.

 

The cake is because it's my birthday. That is what we are celebrating. I'm another year older, I feel I am finally growing up, though my father likely still sees me as his little girl. Today I looked in the mirror and could see a determination in my eyes that was not there before. They were bluer. Wider. I feel I will do great things when I am finally an adult. I will do great things like my father.

 

My father is the judge of a very prestigious courthouse. He took on the job before I was born, but when I was little I often heard him tell of how he sought to clean it of corruption. He is a noble man, and I am very proud of him.

 

I am not used to writing. I try to be as neat as possible, but sometimes that hurts my hand. Papa is always writing, though, and I want to follow his example. I'll practice in this diary.

 

I can hear him call me. He's finished with his papers. I will come back tomorrow, and I will write better.

 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt 2_

I'm sorry diary, I hid you under the bed and then I forgot about you. Sometimes certain things slip my mind, and I've been very busy spending time with Mama. I don't get enough time with her most days. It was nice to be with her this week.

 

I found the diary while I was cleaning my room. I told the maids that I wanted to help them by giving them one less job to do. Really though I just didn't want them looking into my things. I don't mind them--they're nice ladies--but I really want this room to belong to just me. To be just mine. No one else coming in and rearranging things, even if it gets a little messy when I play with my dolls.

 

Anyway it's good that I did that. If the regular maid had been in here, she would have found my diary and read it. She would see my awful penmanship and my goofy comment about my eyes being bluer and I'd be so embarrassed.

 

There's still some time left in the day. I think I will go into the kitchen and make my favorite snack. I won't forget you again, diary, don't worry! I'll find something to write every day.

 

* * *

 

_Excerpt 3_

 

Papa said something I don't understand today.

 

I went to his study looking to ask him to play with me, as I needed another person for my practice tea party. When I got to the door, I heard him speaking with someone on the phone. He sounded upset. He said that he didn't get a lot of money from his position as judge, and that he didn't want to spend as much as the other person was asking. They argued a little longer, exchanging words that I couldn't make out, and then he said that he'd make someone "cough the dough up".

 

I don't understand. Papa makes lots of money from being a judge. That's why he buys me so many presents. That's why Mama has so much money to spend on nice things.

 

Why would he say something like that?

 

I won't ask him. I don't want him to scold me for listening in. I think, diary, that sometimes a part of growing up is keeping some things to yourself.

 

In the end, I left without inviting him to my tea party. He was busy, and didn't come out of the study the entire day. I entertained myself by exploring the house, even though I know it so well. It's large and a little creaky. I don't think we always lived here, but I don't know where we used to stay. It was so long ago.

 

I didn't find anything worth reporting, diary. Maybe I'll go outside the house. Papa can be a little overprotective, but if he's as busy tomorrow as he was today, he won't notice and stop me.

 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt 4_

 

A woman came over to the house today. She was prettier than Mama, but I would never tell Mama that. She had midnight black hair, had strange exotic clothes, and wore a monocle. In her hands she had a long pipe that she smoked--the smoke smelled rather nice, actually. She smiled when she saw me, and said something about my appearance. I think she was complimenting it, so I said thank you. Papa has told me it's important to be polite to strangers.

 

He didn't seem to want me to be around her, and told me to go play soon after the woman spoke to me. I think it's one of those things he doesn't want me to know about, like that day I listened in on him when he was talking on the phone in his study. I was going to see if I could spy on them, but they ended up leaving the house. So I had to do something else.

 

It's night time, actually, and I'm writing by a small lamp at my bedside. I should be asleep but I didn't have time to write during the day, and I promised I would write every day. After Papa left with that woman I went out into the garden. Mama's been working on it a bit more lately, which makes me glad because the gardener isn't good at keeping some of the prettier flowers alive. Sometimes I get to help her, in that small garden. She wasn't here today, though. So I was there by myself.

 

I couldn't stop thinking about the woman. I felt like I knew her. Like I had seen her some time before. It was very odd. And the way Papa acted was strange too. Like they were keeping a secret together.

 

I could do some investigation later, maybe look into Papa's papers. But I often find such things are boring when actually examined. It's much more fun to imagine.

 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt 5_

 

Sometimes, when I have stayed up really late and pass out the moment my head hits the pillow, I have these dreams that don't feel like dreams. They are clear and vivid, like a memory. But when the shroud of sleep falls away so do the details that made them so powerfully real, and they become dreams once more. Sometimes they are nice. Sometimes they are painful, and make me tremble.

 

I will write this one down before it fades with the coming dawn, because this was one of the pleasant dreams. I was with a blue-haired man. We were laughing, having dinner together. I remember liking him a whole lot. It was an uncomplicated love, and I felt a great sense of ease. I had the distinct impression that he was my prince, and soon we would be married.

 

He seemed troubled at times--like there was a heavy weight, a failure on his shoulders that he could not lift. But he tried not to show that to me. And I remember vaguely that in the dream, I was so happy just to be near him that I didn't notice.

 

If he's real, I want to meet him. Maybe I could help him.

 

That's not the only memory-like dream I've had, but it's the most recent. Others are so old now, they're more like ink-drops on an empty page than words. Impressions, scattered images. I remember in one dream looking up at a woman in a magical sorcerer's cloak with pink hair. She was condescending to me, and I don't think I liked that very much. I think she got on my nerves. I think maybe she expected some great task of me that I couldn't do.

 

In another dream I had a family. But something bad happened in that one. I don't like that one. I don't want to remember the details. It was painful to me.

 

Maybe I'll write down more nice dreams if I have them.

 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt 6_

 

It hasn't been a good few days. I got really sick, and I had to stay in bed for a long time sipping broth and throwing up into the garbage can. Which is not lady-like to talk about, but it's not like anyone's reading this anyway.

 

I couldn't even get up to retrieve this diary, I was so faint and dizzy. It's only now that I've been able to walk to the dresser and open up the false bottom where I have it hidden so the maids don't find it. My hand is still shaking just a little bit as I hold the pen. I don't like being sick.

 

Papa sat by my bedside for most of it, but he's still a busy man and so could not be here the entire time. He put a cool cloth on my forehead, and held my hair back when I threw up. But for him the whole experience would have been unbearable. As it is it was merely bad.

 

When he wasn't around, Mama or one of the servants would tend to me. But I think she was afraid that she would contract what I had, and so stayed in a chair a few feet from the bed and read to me. My mind was so hazy all of her words blurred together, and even now I can't remember the book she'd picked out.

 

While I was moving in and out of my feverish dreams I saw more of those unclear "memories". Perhaps as compensation for my suffering in the real world, in this fantasy dream world they were all pleasant. Happy days spent with smiling children. Surrounding myself with beautiful flowers. Feeling that I was cherished. I remember them as poorly as my mother's bedtime book-reading, but I was glad for them anyway.

 

I will rest again, I think.

 

* * *

 

 

_Excerpt 7_

My father took me aside today and said he wanted me to be a part of something. I can scarcely believe all the things he said, but I must. He is my father. He told me not to breathe a word of it to anyone. But you are not anyone, diary. You are a cold, lifeless book. And so my words will be safe in you.

 

He told me that the black haired woman that I had seen him talking with from time to time was a sorceress. A very powerful sorceress. And that he was her apprentice. I almost didn't believe him. Because magic is the thing of fairytales, and I am not a child anymore. But to prove it, he poured a glass of water and froze it in his hand. I could barely speak. I was so amazed.

 

Apparently this sorceress needs help to clean herself of some evil inside her. And to do that, she needs me. He says that what she will entrust me with is a powerful spirit, that she has assured him that it is safe. More than safe--it will instill me with its great power. He told me he would explain more what that was later. When he has, I will write it all down here.

 

It's very important I not tell mother. He said that she wouldn't understand. She's not like me, or him. She doesn't like fanciful things. That's okay with me. It's like it's our secret. I'm so excited.

 

He says that it's going to take place tomorrow, and that he wants me to be ready for it. He gave me something to drink tonight--I'm not supposed to eat or drink anything else except for that. It didn't taste good, though. It was bitter when I swallowed, and my stomach felt funny maybe an hour later. I'm better now, though.

 

It's like something out of my childhood fantasies coming true. My hand trembles like it did when I was sick.

 

When I write next in this diary I'll be writing my own storybook.

 

Signing off,

 

_Lilith Balledold._


End file.
